


they say it's lonely at the top

by Theboys



Series: what a time to be alive [6]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Basketball, M/M, Marriage, Scandal, basketball player!Jared, journalist!jensen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 10:36:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11102811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theboys/pseuds/Theboys
Summary: Jensen leaves before Jared wakes.In the wake of a scandal that involves the entire team, Jensen needs time to re-evaluate.





	they say it's lonely at the top

Jensen leaves before Jared wakes.

He feels a bit melodramatic, hangs the UNC hoodie on top of the armchair situated in the corner of the room. He’s too stupid-in-love with his husband to come outright and say it, but he needs a minute. He needs the space.

He’s sore, twisted into seemingly unmanageable positions that he’s long used to.

Jared sleeps like the dead after a game, hits the pillow swinging, and Jensen itches to reach out, curl into the unrelenting heat of his husband’s chest.

His eyes flick to the TV, positioned over the fireplace. It’s off, blessedly, but Jensen’s not exactly keen to turn it on and face the avalanche.

A different hoodie later---OKC, a gift from the team after the documentary he helped arranged, Jensen’s got his phone tucked in his back pocket, keys jangling in his left hand.

He’s rounding the stairs at a headlong pace, reaching for his IPhone so he can call Chris, when he runs into JD---quite literally.

The impact is jarring, and Jensen’s phone skitters to the floor to bounce against the toe of JD’s black boot.

“Fuck,” Jensen mutters, rubs at his collarbone.

“Give a guy a warning, would you,” he says, kind of stiffly, mostly wary. 

JD doesn’t bother him very much. Normally, Jensen would think it’s because JD doesn’t really care for him, but Jared told him that JD’s pretty old-fashioned and prefers to avoid even a semblance of impropriety.

Jensen had blinked back at Jared, pretty stupidly, he can admit it, and Jared laughed, curled both hands around Jensen’s waist and dragged him in, chest to chest.

“I planned to marry you the first day I met you,” Jared says sensibly, freeing one hand to cup Jensen’s cheek. “JD’s not blind, and he’s not an idiot.”

Jensen snorted, still a bit perplexed, but Jared was starting up a slow grind at that point, and pretty much all of his remaining facilities fled the room--but now JD is meeting his gaze and, more importantly, not moving out of his way.

“Did you need Jared?” Jensen says, cheeks coloring. “He’s still sleeping. Give him a few hours; I’m sure he’ll be ready to talk by then.” Jensen bites down on his lower lip, holds his breath.

“You leaving?”

JD doesn’t waste any bullets, and Jensen sighs. “Don’t do this. Don’t make this about him,” Jensen says, and JD holds up one hand in placation. 

“Was just asking a question, Mr. Padalecki,” JD says, and Jensen crosses his arms. “Alright then, you asked it. I need to get going.”

JD steps to the side, minutely, not nearly enough for Jensen to pass comfortably. 

Jensen steels himself to meet the man’s eyes. “Anything else?”

JD scrubs at his beard, two fingers, and Jensen takes note of how tired the man looks. “Have you slept?” Jensen asks, claps his hand on JD’s shoulder for a closer look before he thinks better of it. 

“You should sleep,” Jensen adds, color rising. “I just. Everything will still be there when you wake up.”

“I booked Jared’s flight myself,” JD says instead, doesn’t bother moving away from Jensen’s strange touch.

“His handler usually takes care of that sort of thing, but everybody, and I do mean everybody, was celebrating,’” JD says, a grim sort of smile curving into his beard. 

“You know how Der is,” JD says, not unkindly, and yes, Jensen does. Der and Jare. Dynamic duo. Derrick is usually the life of the party, and Jared’s not too shy. 

“I know,” Jensen says, drops his hand. JD flexes his shoulder and continues, still meeting Jensen’s eyes with that strange focus.

“He told Jared to knock back a few shots, give you his hello’s when Jared got back home,” JD says, and Jensen shrugs, one hand rubbing at the nape of his neck.

“Jared took three shots, from around seven to eight that night. Then he turned, grabbed me and my guys, and asked if one of us could drive him to the airport.” JD leans forward, and Jensen’s eyes dart up, wide.

“He asked me to keep an eye on the guys. Especially Derrick. Said the guy was wasted, didn’t play his best.”

Jensen nods, remembers the game, even though the highlights seem forever ago. They benched Der with five fouls just before the half. Jared carried the team after that, and every camera-cut to Rose showed the disappointment in himself.

“I drove him to the airport myself, put him on the plane.” Jensen nods, hands trembling. “Where is this going?” Jensen asks, quiet.

JD crosses his arms across his chest. 

“The stripper came at around eleven.” 

Jensen chokes but JD bulldozes ahead, eyes blank. “I know, because I let her in.”

Jensen’s face is leached of all color and he casts a glance behind him, at the stairs, like Jared’s just going to suddenly appear.

“I took a long walk,” JD says, sounding uncomfortable, at last. “I’ve been with Jay for a long time, in the sports world even longer. I know what guys get up to after a game, and didn’t really see a need for me to stay and listen.”

JD cracks his knuckles individually and Jensen holds his breath.

“Except this time, when I come back, there’s screaming and crying, and.” JD pauses, shrugs. “You know the rest.”

Jensen’s body is trembling, despite his layers, and he’s gonna be sick.

“She’s saying they. She told the press that they ran a. She said they gangbanged her. The team.” Jensen’s throat is dry when he swallows, an audible click.

JD doesn’t move, blinks.

“Is that what happened?”

JD sighs, deep from his toes. “That’s what it looked like.” JD moves for the first time, opening up Jensen’s trajectory to the door. 

“I flew back after that, and Jared.” JD pauses, voice deepening. “He was trapped in that airport. Mobbed. A lot of it was fans, usually is, but she’d already. The news had got wind. They were drunk. It wasn’t quiet. It was on TV.”

Jensen’s face is wet, pictures his husband, groggy and confused, his whole life, slandered. 

“He wasn’t there for it,” JD says, “and he’s not there now.”

Jensen’s air comes out clogged, and he knows he’s crying but he’s mostly unaware of himself until JD enters his personal space.

“I’m crossing lines here,” JD says, thick, “but, Mr. Padalecki, you’re. You’re a handsome man. Jay thinks the world of you. He’d never get involved.”

Jensen’s sure, if he could string words together, he’d be thanking JD, but the other man is gone, hand tipped to his ear to, presumably, communicate with his team.

Jensen’s standing in the middle of his foyer, like a fool, when he hears Jared’s familiar tread, a muffled curse as Jared apparently bumps into something.

“JENSEN?! JEN?” Jared’s too loud for this hour, and Jensen winces instinctively. “Fuck! Jesus Christ!” Jared says, appears at the top of the stairs, hair windblown, eyes wild.

He’s taking the steps three at a time, shirtless, when it registers that Jensen’s standing in the center of the room, unmoving.

“Oh God, fuck. God,” Jared says, out of breath, and Jensen feels heavy, cumbersome. 

Jared’s just before him, reaching out to touch, when everything seems to click at once. “What’s this,” Jared says, dry, hand fluttering above the blue-orange of Jared’s not-team.

Jared’s eyes drop to the car keys, and he stiffens so suddenly his bad knee cracks.

“You’re leaving.”

Jensen’s face is still wet and Jared’s mouth twists when he notices, one thumb brushing just underneath his eyes.

“Are you leaving me?” Jared asks, so quiet it’s only half a whisper, and Jensen’s breath comes out on an exhale, a shaky sob.

“You can’t leave me,” Jared says, eyes welling up, spilling over, Jensen’s never seen him cry. Not once. 

“Please. I’m begging you. Do you hear me, Jensen? I’m begging you, baby. Please, please, please don’t leave me. Please.”

Jared’s voice rises with every plea, and Jensen steps back, needs the space to explain; he could never leave. Not ever. But he is an idiot.

“Jared. Jared, stop, stop for a second,” Jensen says, because Jared’s clutching at his hair, tight handfuls in his fists.

“I can get the tapes. The footage. I told you that. I already told you I’d have JD--” Jared rambles, and Jensen would do anything to take it all back.

“Jared, Jared, stop, listen to me,” Jensen says, crying himself, ruined. “It was JD! JD already told me. JD told me what happened,” Jensen explains, inching closer. 

“He told me you didn’t d--do anything,” Jensen hiccups, and a strange silence falls, not one Jensen’s equipped to decipher.

Jared stops crying, but his face twists, and there’s so much in that glance, something like  _ betrayal,  _ that Jensen stutters on his next word.

“W--what’s wrong?” Jensen breathes, and Jared backs up, one-two-three footfalls. 

“That’s all it took, huh?” Jared says, and his voice is dull, toneless. Jared’s never, not once, spoken to him like that.

“I’m glad JD cleared the whole thing up for you,” Jared says, in that same monotone, face hardened. 

Jensen’s confused, feels like he shot a three that fell way, way short.

“Isn’t--Jay, isn’t this a g-good thing?” Jensen tries, and Jared laughs, brittle and mirthless. 

“I need to get out of here,” Jared says abruptly, turns away from Jensen’s searching gaze. His eyes catch on the coffee table and Jensen watches Jared scoop up the keys to his Martin, shove them into one pocket.

“Y-you can’t fucking  _ leave _ ,” Jensen says, and now he’s almost-angry. 

Jared doesn’t turn to look at him; he’s too busy zipping himself into a jacket, tugging the hood over his face. 

“Don’t worry,” Jared says, voice leaden, “I’ll make sure to tell JD where I’m going so he can let you know.”

Jared’s longer, faster, so even though Jensen trips over himself in order to reach his husband in time, Jared still manages to wrench open their front door, immediately ducking his head against the onslaught of paparazzi.

Jensen’s dizzy with the camera flashes, although he’s too far back in the house to have been caught on film, but JD’s heavy body whizzes past his, followed by the mafia detail, and it’s too cacophonous, and Jensen can’t even make out what commands JD’s screaming in his earpiece.

The door shuts, finally, mercifully, and Jensen sinks to the floor and studiously ignores the gentle, “Mr. Padalecki,” that repeats itself, an endless loop. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> long time no see--what are y'all's thoughts?


End file.
